


The Jail Cell

by RealSherlock3d



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Fluff, Fluffyness, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Stag Night, The Stag Night, Unresolved Romantic Tension, fluff?, jail cell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealSherlock3d/pseuds/RealSherlock3d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all that nonsense with Tessa, and after Sherlock threw up in her house, John and Sherlock were thrown in a jail cell. What exactly happened there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jail Cell

“Alright, you two. Stay in there, no funny business!” a prison guard yelled before shutting the cell door.

John sat slumped on a wall, Sherlock next to him on a piece of concrete sticking out of it. 

“That was one sitty egg,” Sherlock said, his words slurring.

John looked at him and laughed. “You’re fuh-ny.” His blonde hair was oddly spiked up and made him look like more of a teenager than a 40 year old man. Sherlock’s eyes soaked up the view.

“No, you are,” Sherlock insisted. He dropped down from the slab onto the floor in front of John. A sly smirk creeped up his face. 

John leaned forward to look more deeply into Sherlock’s eyes. He returned the smile. “Lie.”

Sherlock leaned back a little to accommodate John’s presence. “I don’t liiieee,” he sang out the last word. 

John steadied himself by putting his palm on the ground and whispered, “Kings lie all the time, don’t they? King Sherlock.” 

To this, Sherlock replied: “You can be my queen, Queen John.” And he leaned in a little, matching John’s motion.

Each of them had eachother entranced in their eyes. They kept their stare.

“Sherlock, you’re…” John drew his look away, slurring the words. 

Sherlock intensified his look, his eyes moving to where John’s head did. “I’m what? Not _hic_ the king anymore?” 

“No, not at all. I meant to say that you’re pre-eetty,” the words danced out of John’s mouth. 

“Oh. You’re pretty _hic_ too.” 

And they laughed. They laughed for what seemed to be ages. They laughed until they couldn’t breathe.

And when they were finished laughing, when the note was about to drop, they moved in closer. So close that they could taste eachother. A sudden movement would bring eachother together. Their lips would meet. Their heads would connect.

But John slumped back, exhausted in his drunk form. “I need to…” And he fell asleep.

And Sherlock clambered up back onto the slab, tired as well, and fell asleep. 

To end the stag night.


End file.
